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Friday, August 7, 2015

When something is far away, the
distance obscures its differentiating details, blurs meaningful variation into
flat, oversimplified uniformity. Old age is like that. Until you
reach it yourself, it's an abstraction.

When I was very little, I was
almost afraid of the elderly. When a great-aunt would move to embrace me
at a holiday reunion, I could feel my entire body stiffen like I was about to
kiss Death itself. This is because our society vehemently promotes youth over
age. We've been encouraged to regard aging as a disease and to put off
acknowledging it for as long as possible, lest we peer into our own
liver-spotted future.

Growing old is inescapable. Our
cells will continue to divide no matter how many antioxidants we consume,
regardless of how much Lubriderm we slather on. Moreover, we pay a
cultural price when we devalue our eldest citizens and push them to the periphery
to gather dust and stereotypes. In terms the hipster crowd can
appreciate, what’s left once you pour all the vintage wine down the drain?

I’m fortunate now to have close
relatives and friends who are much older than I. They remind me of the rich
insight a seasoned veteran can offer. If nothing else, an older person has
proceeded further through the maze and knows where more of its dead ends
are. They‘re mentors who help me appreciate each new ring that time adds
to my trunk. I had fewer white beard hairs years ago, fewer random ear hairs
certainly, but would I really want to return to the assertive ignorance of my
twenties? Of my thirties? (I'll be saying the same about my forties
when I'm fifty.)

True, lots of old folks become
incapacitated, lonely, confused... deceased. But so do many of the
young. Grow up, already.